If it was Carlos Ghosn who fixed the disaster that was the previous Xterra, then someone should hire the guy to direct FEMA. That first-gen effort, introduced in 1999, was underpowered and rode atop a chassis with all the structural integrity of squeezable Velveeta. Too bad this gen-two iteration, with its fast-revving 265-horse V-6 nestled within a modified Titan's steel ladder frame, looks so much like the original, because it doesn't deserve one iota of its forebear's rep. It's like the difference between Kate Smith and Kate Moss.

Where our three other SUVs were a little too single-skilled -- the H3 and FJ off-road, the Jeep on -- the new Xterra proved talented at both. You can see it in the stats: It's the shortest and narrowest of the quartet, a huge asset on narrow trails. It offers 9.5 inches of ground clearance, the most horsepower, a 7.0-second 0-to-60 time, the highest emergency-lane-change speed, and the best observed fuel economy.

On the Mengel Pass, the Xterra kept pace with the H3 and FJ, thanks to its locking rear diff, Bilstein shocks, BFG Rugged Trail tires, and three skid plates (plus a fourth guarding the transfer case). Its shifter was almost as slick as the FJ's, with gentle clutch takeup and serene throttle tip-in. The view forward was superb, helped by a commanding driving position. Precise steering allowed the Xterra to hunt back and forth through boulders like a bloodhound on the scent, and when you needed to goose this baby up ascents, it leapt like a sports car. In a moment of exuberance, in fact, I pulled a Garlits-quality wheelie scrabbling up a 50-degree quartzite grade -- the sort of chassis-bending caper Robinson had begged us to eschew.

Standard kit includes a useful roof rack, plus side steps for climbing up there. The Xterra's cloth seats were firm and grippy, with bolsters to hold thighs in place on steep side slopes. (In the Jeep, you were left to clutch the steering wheel.) The Nissan was the only contestant whose transfer case could be toggled to two-wheel drive once civilization loomed, a real gas saver. The Off-Road model comes with a clutch override switch that allowed us to start in gear without slipping the clutch as we scaled the most imposing of the Last Chance Trail's jasper staircases. Moreover, the front-passenger seat folds flat, meaning that, even though this is the shortest SUV in the group, a six-footer could stretch out and sleep in the back. Which I did on the night of the 55-mph winds in Warm Spring Canyon -- the real winds, not just the snoring winds of my tent-bound colleagues.

The logbook reflected only three recurring beefs. The Xterra's brake pedal was mushy. Its spare tire was attached to the undercarriage, requiring you to kneel in the muck to fetch it -- the sort of annoyance that might inspire you to throw an anvil into a nearby creek. And a rear suspension joint squeaked like a chipmunk for three days. It may have been our fault. On day one, we layered the Xterra's cargo bay with four feet of heavy firewood purchased from a woman in Rosamond, who owned pit bulls named Capone and Fruehauf, a 300-pound potbellied pig, and a baby-blue 1957 Lincoln that she tried to sell us. "Trade it for your Nissan," she offered, having totaled her Jeep 24 hours prior.

We're glad we declined. In this test, the Xterra prevailed because, no matter what we threw at it, it remained friendly, flexible, and practical. If Carl Mengel had owned one, he might not have been buried at 4328 feet.